


Five Times Wynonna and Dolls Kissed, Plus One Other Time They Kissed

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Almost Porn But No Actual Porn, F/M, Fluff, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6845044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin--there's not enough WyDolls love and I ship this ship so hard.</p><p>5 times Wynonna and Dolls kissed, +1 time they kissed again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Wynonna and Dolls Kissed, Plus One Other Time They Kissed

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to my friend Reyes who has been listening to me cry about the 3 WyDolls WIPs I've had going for over a week for suggesting this, because I was complaining that I just wanted them to kiss.
> 
> Really sorry about any errors... and about the title and summary... This is just a very self-indulgent piece.

1.

Long after Christmas dinner, too close on the couch and too warm with top-shelf bourbon, wrapped up in their own world, conversation ebbs and flows.  It’s… comfortable, and picturesque, all dark except for a fire that’s burned almost completely down, and he’s having _fun._   There’s no urgency, it’s an odd moment of calm, and dinner had been loud and crowded and amazingly familiar in this unfamiliar place.  She talks about Athens and Paris and a little place in Tuscany and it feels so bizarrely serene and _normal_.  Suddenly, she shifts closer, momentarily serious when she says, “I’m really glad you came.”

“I’m glad I let your sister talk me in to coming,” he teases, unable to quite meet her tone, but she smirks, eyes suddenly glinting with a challenge.

Wynonna stands, takes his nearly empty glass, and drinks the last dregs as she walks away.  She comes back with something held behind her back, voice pitched very low as she murmurs, “I had to _wrestle_ this from Waverly and hide it where I knew she’d never find it, because it’s really kind of a weird tradition.”

“Creepy, voyeuristic,” he agrees as she sits, revealing a plastic bunch of mistletoe.

“But _fun,_ ” she continues, but her eyes betray just the hint of uncertainty.  His hand comes up to cradle her cheek and he _starts_ to close what little distance remains between them but she whispers against his lips, “That better not be another tracking device.”

The kiss is deceptively gentle, slow, as if they don’t have every reason to rush, to urge.  As if they’re allowed that moment of almost lazy exploration.

2.

Dolls doesn’t need to repeat why the situation is so dire, and he can see the gears turning in her mind, the way she chews the inside of her cheek and stares at the road ahead of them as he pushes the gas pedal to the floorboard.  “Don’t—just don’t do anything stupid or reckless,” he warns lowly.  _Don’t go off half-cocked, don’t get emotional_ , he doesn’t say.

She scoffs but doesn’t look at him.

And the _problem_ with Purgatory is that everything outside of Main Street is so goddamn far away, and all urgency can tend to bleed out of you on the way to a scene.  But Wynonna’s still wound tight when he skids to a stop.  “We got a plan?” he presses.

Nodding distantly, she says, “Yeah.”

She pauses half a beat and looks over at him, eyes suddenly shuttered, unreadable.  She leans over the console and smacks her lips to his, sloppy and hard but with feeling.

“I’m gonna do something stupid.”

3.

“Thirty-seven stitches,” are the first words he says to her when she wakes up.

“Okay, first of all, rude,” she slurs, squinting at him.  “Second, I’m still not dead, so yay.  And, third!  Morphine.”  She shifts, hisses, then settles.  “And no actual people died.  I’m calling this a win.”

There’s something icy in his voice when he remarks, “You ended up with rebar through your stomach, so excuse me for not tossing confetti.”  Her expression goes closed, hurt and guilty at once, and she doesn’t reply which is somehow worse.  “Dammit, _Wynonna._ ”  He hates the emotion that cracks through his tone.

“I saw a way to get those people out,” she says after a pregnant silence.  “I’m not sorry.  Well… I’m a little sorry about this,” her hand waves weakly at her gut, heavily bandaged under the thin blanket pulled up to her chest.  “They can’t all be clean.”

“Trust me when I say I know that,” he answers, struggling to keep his voice even.  “But we’re partners and you gotta talk to me.  _You’re_ too important to this whole thing to pull that shit.”  He stands, pent-up energy forcing him out of his chair and paces to the door and back, swallowing hard against the _anger_ that pushes against his chest, beats against his ribs, wants _out_. 

“Dolls,” she whispers, reaching out a little weakly.  Helpless, he takes her hand, and she meets his gaze earnestly.  “Can you be mad at me when I’m not so high I’m on Saturn?  You’ve got the advantage here.”

Unwillingly, he lets out a hard laugh.  “Deal,” he sighs.  He presses his lips fleetingly to her forehead, hear her temple, in one spot not marred black and blue.  He feels her lean into the touch but pulls away.  “I’ll get Waverly, okay?”

4.

It’s _just_ early enough for light to be filtering in, bathing the admittedly stark room in golden light.  He’d usually be up by now.  He’s got a _schedule_.  But when he shifts, Wynonna stretches, cat-like, and curls closer, and _one_ late morning isn’t so bad as to ruin anything.  He drags his fingers through her hair, down her neck, over the dips and rises of her spine, over the scar that’s still new and raised, and she hums against his throat, sighs just short of a moan.

“You are,” she mumbles sleepily, “Under no circumstances to wake me before ten.”

“How do you get anything done?” he asks, voice pitched low and playful as his fingers follow their path back up to bury against her scalp.

“ _Evil_ ,” she gasps, moving into the touch.  Lazily, she nips at his throat, soothes the point with lips and tongue.  “I get _plenty_ done,” she whispers hot against his ear. 

Huffing, he dips his head to catch her mouth against his, heated and slick and hungry.

5.

“What… the… hell?”

Wynonna has _never_ beat him to the station before.  She grins as he closes the door behind himself, self-satisfied and holding back laughter.

“You woke up before ten,” he accuses.

“I know, it’s disgusting,” she snickers.  “You must be rubbing off on me—and not even just in the sexy way.  I can’t believe you’re infecting me with good habits.”

“Well, happy birthday to me,” he teases, leaning forward to peck her softly on the lips before freezing, realizing what he’s said.

His life requires a certain distance, and even here the understanding was on impermanence, but now she knows it’s his birthday.  _It’s just a day on a calendar_ , he thinks.  But it’s not, and she’s gaping up at him.  It’s a silly thing but something in his stomach plummets and she stands to meet him on level.  Her arms wind around his neck and she pulls him close to whisper, “Happy birthday.”  It’s a silly thing, but _no one_ has known about his birthday in years.  He’s frozen in place and he feels _ridiculous_.

He hugs her back, feels her lips press somewhere above his ear.

+1.

“How do you feel about Chinese?” she asks.

“The food?” he responds, not looking up from his file.

Scoffing, she says, “No, the language.”

“Chinese isn’t really a language,” Dolls replies, finally meeting her gaze.  “It’s not.”  She doesn’t look impressed.  “I feel _fine_ about Chinese except I feel like you’re asking _me_ to go _get_ Chinese because there’s nowhere that delivers in Purgatory.  Which is, like, an hour drive.  For takeout.  Which is kind of a misappropriation of government resources.”

“Yes, but consider this:  I really want dumplings, and lo mein is always better microwaved,” she coaxes.

Her chin dips and he’s _weak_ but he heaves a sigh, “Fine, call it in.  But that whole stack of incident reports need to be finished by the time I get back.”

Grinning like she won something (she did), she tosses him a fake salute.  “Yes, boss,” she laughs, tilting her chin up to meet him when he leans forward to peck her, the barest brush of lips—

“ _Oh_ , oh my gosh, we—sorry, we should—“

Waverly and Nicole are standing in the doorway, the former with her hands covering her mouth and the latter looking an odd mix of scared and triumphant.  “We’re gonna… go,” Nicole chokes, trying to hide her laughter.

“No,” Dolls says, tossing Wynonna a quick vicious smile, “I’m leaving anyway.”  On his way past, he asks, “Do you two want Chinese?”

**Author's Note:**

> [Bonus! I have a Tumblr! Follow and feel free to ask about my extensive feelings about Wynonna Earp!](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also: I wrote this before 1.07 and I c r i e d at the Chinese food thing ok.


End file.
